


Weary

by LadyBrooke



Category: The Lord of the Rings - J. R. R. Tolkien, The Silmarillion and other histories of Middle-Earth - J. R. R. Tolkien
Genre: Angst, Coma, Gen, Modern Era
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2013-05-11
Updated: 2013-05-11
Packaged: 2017-12-11 13:22:10
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 741
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/799202
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/LadyBrooke/pseuds/LadyBrooke
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Maglor and Thranduil talk, and questions of who is the lucky one and why they do not just go to Valinor arise.</p>
            </blockquote>





	Weary

“Did you ever think about how lucky you are?” Maglor jumped as he heard the voice behind him, as Thranduil came to stare at the bed with him.

“That I’m not the one in a coma?” he asked.

Thranduil smiled, for a brief moment, apparently amused. Then, his face resumed the same look Maglor had become used to over the past few years. “No, though at the moment, I’m almost willing to say he is the lucky one.” He paused, caressing the blanket, though both of them knew it was pointless to think that Celeborn had any idea of what his bed looked like. “I meant…did you know that Celeborn is my Uncle?”

Maglor shook his head slowly. “I wasn’t aware of the exact relation, though I knew you were related somehow.”

“Yes, I doubt many are aware of exactly how we’re related. His wife and my father never got along, and after Uncle chose her, we never saw much of each other for a long time. But still, my mother was his sister.”

Maglor was quiet, wondering where Thranduil was going with this.

“And of course, you’re aware that he and I are the only ones left on these shores of our family. Elwe did always say that Celeborn was stubbornness personified, and I suppose the same applies to me.” Thranduil had been staring at Celeborn as he said this, only to shake his head and move his gaze out the window. “You want to know why you’re lucky, Maglor? Your family died. Even your brother, when he lost his hand, he could still move and talk, and he regained his skills. And you knew for certain when it was all over – they were dead, and that was it. I can’t have that. He could wake up tomorrow, he could wake up next month, he could die while in this, and I don’t know when it could happen. You remember how he was before he slipped into this damn thing - he was always moving. There was none of this stillness, this unnatural stillness that makes me want to scream with frustration, because if his chest wasn't moving he would look dead. You're lucky that you've never seen any of your relatives like this Maglor, can you imagine your father like this? Or your younger brothers? I used to wish that he was just dead instead of lingering like this." By the time he had finished, his arms were moving wildly as he paced through the room.

Maglor looked up, wanting to argue the point, but stopping at the look on Thranduil’s face. In the centuries since Celeborn had first found him wandering around and had dragged him back to civilization, he could count on his hand the number of times that he had actually seen Thranduil cry. The fact that Thranduil appeared ready to do so now made him change course.

“You could always load him on a ship and take him to Valinor with you,” he suggested.

“And have to face Galadriel and tell her that her husband might never wake up again? Or tell your mother that I left you behind here by yourself?” Thranduil laughed bitterly. “Maglor, I can’t do anything other than what I’ve already done – pay for the best care my Uncle could ever have, make sure it is kept private so nobody discovers what we are – and it’s not enough. But if I leave, it’s not going to help anything either.”

“It’s the not knowing that is the worst part, isn’t it?” Maglor understood a little of Thranduil’s feelings. “If I knew that Fingon or Fingolfin or any of the others had been reborn, I’d hop on a boat today in the hopes of the Valar letting me spend just an hour with them before dragging me off to the Halls.”

“But neither of us know if our family has actually been reborn,” Thranduil spoke wearily, having calmed down from his fit. “I’m going to leave him for the night. There’s nothing more I can do. Whenever you grow tired of sitting here, there’s a spare room made up down the hall.”

As he stared out the window, Maglor felt tired of it all himself. Perhaps Thranduil had been right, and Celeborn was the lucky one, to escape everything they suffered through. He thought, as he drifted off to sleep, that fate was slowly killing those of them that had lingered this long.


End file.
